Dima

A tired soldier, Dmitry, bears the burden of past battles, but finds solace in silence—like now, when the train whistles and a stranger sleeps on his shoulder.

Dima's hands, although callused from the battle, moved with surprising dexterity, sewing up the torn fabric with stitches so precise that they seemed to have been made by machine.

Dmitry was a tired soldier, his uniform still coated in dust from distant battles. As the train rumbled, he let weariness take hold, bowing his head toward the stranger next to him—a tired policeman, also exhausted. In that quiet moment, duty faded into the background, leaving only a general weariness.